And So It Begins
by TheseWordsAreUnspoken
Summary: Fleeing her past, Iris Chevalier finds a new life with the kings musketeers. Discovering a passion for defending those who needs it, she must first learn to defend herself. Pre-Savoy massacre.
1. Chapter 1

Iris was beginning to think Elaine would never show up. Her plan had to be carried out soon, or the chance would be lost. She would be stuck here forever.

Glancing around her room, her prison cell, she felt sure of her decision. She was risking everything, but was it really that bad when she barely had anything to begin with.

Iris froze when the sound of footsteps echoed through the hall. She rushed to the door and saw a flickering light come closer. When the lock clicked, Iris watched Elaine slip inside and close the door as quietly as possible.

"Did it work?"

"He went out like a light in a matter of seconds."

Iris felt a wave of relief wash over her. She gripped the other woman's hands tightly.

"This is really happening. I cant thank you enough," she whispered enthusiastically.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Elaine pleaded, worry radiating from her face. "Where will you go? What if they find you?"

"Elaine, he has begun to speak of marriage. If I don't go now, I will never get to leave this place."

Sighing in defeat, Elaine turned to the door again.

"Then we must be quick."

Iris picked up her travelling cloak, and touched the bracelet on her wrist to make sure it was still with her.

_I'm getting away mother. I really am_, she thought and closed the door behind her without a second glance_. If I never see that room again, it will be too soon._

They crept through the halls with extreme care, not daring to make any noise. Iris wasn't sure what time it was, but hoped everyone had gone to bed. There would be no goodbyes. Perhaps it was better that way.

Upon entering the kitchen, Elaine rushed to the back door and gave it a little push. When it opened, she turned back to Iris.

"This is it then."

Iris felt as though she should say something, but words didn't seem enough. Instead she threw her arms around the woman who had taken care of her since her mothers death, and held her close.

"I'll never see you again," she whispered, only now realising the truth of the words. She would – could – never return.

"I hope not," Elaine chuckled in return. Her voice was strained, and Iris suspected the woman had started crying. Pulling slightly back from the embrace, the two women looked at each other.

"You could die out there."

"Then I will die as a free woman."

Elaine sniffed quietly and reached out a hand to touch the bracelet that hung from Iris' wrist.

"You look more and more like your mother every day."

Iris shifted her weight from one foot to another, not meeting Elaine's eyes.

"Would she think me a coward for running away?"

The older woman smiled.

"She would think you a coward if you never tried," she assured the young girl and finally stepped away. Iris took a deep breath and turned to put a hand on the door.

"Elaine," she whispered, looking over her shoulder. "Will you be punished for this?"

Elaine had wrapped her arms around herself. Tears still flowed from her eyes.

"It will be worth it if I know you're out there, somewhere, living the life you want to live."

Iris felt herself smile, and then walked over the threshold. Elaine watched her quickly disappear into the shadows of the night, and sent out a silent prayer that their actions wouldn't be in vain.

"Godspeed, Iris," she mumbled and fastened the bolts on the door.

* * *

Iris was thankful for her impeccable sense of direction. She had spent a great deal of her childhood running through the forests and fields belonging to the mansion, and could navigate it now in the complete darkness of the night with no problems.

Reminding herself that she was far from being safe, Iris felt as though she was walking on air. For years she had dreamed of one day escaping that wretched place. Though she had lived there her entire life, it had never actually been a home to her. At least, not since her mother died.

Iris had never known her father. From what she knew, he worked as a in-house blacksmith at the mansion, but had died in an accident just after she was born. Her mother, who had worked as a maid, had grown ill when Iris was about 10, and died shortly after. Elaine had been the one to take care of her thereafter. The owner of the mansion, comte Demont, had insisted that she should be moved into a room in the cellar – her prison, where he could keep an eye on her. She had worked as a maid herself, just like her mother before her.

She had always known the comte had treated her differently, and only in the past years had she truly understood just how much. Her mother had been beautiful, and it was clear to everyone who had known her that Iris would be beautiful as well. The comte knew this too. He liked to present her to his acquaintances, but would send her away the moment they showed any hint of interest. It had always been like this. When she had turned 15, Iris began to understand how he never meant to let her out of his sight. He had watched her grow up and turn into a young woman. Now, only a few weeks away from her 18th birthday, she had heard him utter the words she had dreaded for so long. Marriage. Why he had waited this long she never knew, but she didn't care to wait around for an answer. It had been the last push she needed to get away, once and for all.

There was nowhere to go. She had no other family that she knew of, and she had never been allowed any friends other than the servants of the household.

The comte had allowed Elaine to teach her how to read and write, and she had spent hours looking at detailed maps of world. Having never set foot outside of the grounds, she could only imagine how it would be like to be free to see the world. Now, perhaps, she could.

She couldn't show herself in the village nearby. Not that anyone would recognise her, but they would surely search for her there first. With Elaine's help, she had slipped something into the comte's night-time tea. Hopefully it would keep him asleep well into the morning before he would realise she was gone. Elaine had suggested that she would be safer in places with more people – she would need a crowd she could blend in with. Iris knew Paris lay only a few hours away from the mansion, but she had no idea where she would go or what to do there. The only thing of value she had brought with her was the bracelet that had been her mothers, and she wasn't just about to leave it out of her sight.

Hoping she would be able to figure something out when daylight arrived again, she set one foot in front of another, determined to just get as much distance between herself and the mansion as possible.

Her determination did indeed keep her going, but after several hours she felt ready to pass out. She hadn't dared to take any breaks, and the past couple of days she had been awake at night to gather enough courage to go through with her escape. There had been no time to bring food either. It had started to rain some time ago, and by now she was soaking wet. It hadn't mattered to her that the weather had been uncharacteristically cold for September, but now she regretted not bringing a warmer cloak.

* * *

Iris heard the sound of a horse when the first touches of colour hit the sky. She stopped dead on the road she had been following and listened. It came nearer. She was filled with dread, and let out an involuntary gasp.

_It cant be, not yet_, she thought and fuelled by her fear she started running.

Looking over her shoulder, she could now see the rider and his horse, coming closer. There was no way she could possibly outrun a horse, so she did the only thing that made sense – taking a sharp turn and run directly into the woods next to the road. She had barely passed the first tree-line when her foot caught on a branch and she fell face first onto the ground. Twisting around, she desperately tried to free herself but it was too late. The rider had left his horse and walked towards her.

He wasn't old, but not young either. His dark hair and moustache was not yet tinged with grey. Though the sun had started to rise, it was still dark, but she saw him clearly and recognised the way he held himself. A soldier. She had met soldiers when they passed through the mansion, and had even tended to a few wounded men.

This particular man had been a soldier for a long while. Layers of pain and war were lined in his face.

"Please don't take me back," she begged, struggling to get away despite still being stuck. He knelt down next to her, and she was shocked to suddenly see kindness in his eyes. Such kindness didn't seem to belong on the face of a warrior.

"Easy now, I'm not going to hurt you," he promised. Iris swallowed hardly. He reached down and untangled the branch from her boot in a swift motion. She watched him throw it aside and reach out a hand towards her.

"Let me help you up."

She waited a few seconds before accepting his hand. Standing again she realised how much she was shivering. Of the fear of being followed or simply the cold she didn't know. He watched her as she tried to brush some dirt off her dress, then gave up as it was already dirty and soaked from travelling.

"What are you doing out here at this time of night?" he asked, frowning. Iris fidgeted uncomfortably. _You wouldn't believe me if I told you_, she thought.

"I was just... I was on my way to..." Iris began, her teeth clattering.

"You're running away," he said giving her a knowing look. "Don't try to deny it – I wasn't born yesterday."

She sniffed and wrapped her arms around herself.

"You look like you might be getting a cold. I'm sure your family -"

"I have no family," she cut him off. He sighed.

"A husband then?"

"Do I look like I'm married?"

He looked her over and then shook his head.

"Are you per any chance running because you've done something illegal?"

Iris frowned.

"Of course not. I'm just... running."

The man pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked tired, and she found herself wondering how long he had been travelling himself. After glancing towards his horse he seemed to make a decision.

"I'm on my way back to Paris. If you're running that way, it would be my pleasure to give you a lift."

Iris wondered for a moment if it was wise. On one hand, she needed to go somewhere and Paris was likely as good a place as any. On the other hand, she knew well enough not to blindly trust strangers. But there was something she couldn't quite explain that made her feel safe. What did she have to loose?

"That would be very kind of you," she replied and followed him back to the road.

He went to his horse, which he had quickly tied to a tree. Iris didn't know much about horses, but this seemed like one that was well tended to. She carefully stepped closer.

"You're not afraid of horses, are you?" he asked. She shook her head and ran her fingers over it's muzzle.

"I've never had much chance to be around them, that's all," she admitted.

He helped her onto the horse, and then stopped dead in his tracks.

"I haven't even introduced myself. I'm Treville, captain of the kings musketeers."

Iris felt a jolt go through her. A musketeer. The captain, no less. Her mother had told her stories of them, of how they fought for king and country, and valued honour above everything else. Feeling safer than she had a moment ago, she finally smiled.

"I'm Iris. Iris Chevalier."


	2. Chapter 2

_"There is a house built out of stone_

_Wooden floors, walls and window sills_

_Tables and chairs worn by all of the dust_

_This is a place where I don't feel alone_

_This is a place where I feel at home."_

To Build A Home - The Cinematic Orchestra

* * *

"Come on, now. You look like you're not even trying!"

"That's because I am, in fact, not trying."

Aramis groaned and threw the dagger he had been holding. It soared through the air and joined several others in the centre of a target they had placed on the other side of the courtyard.

"Why bother, when we both know your aim is better than mine," Marsac yawned. Aramis had suggested the game little over two hours ago, and hoping it would keep him awake, Marsac had gone along with it. In Treville's absence, the musketeers had been taking shifts at guarding the gates. Not that they had anything to guard – they simply had to be present, should anything happen.

Marsac glanced towards the gates and groaned for what seemed like the hundredth time that morning. Being the two newest commissioned musketeers, he and Aramis had been left with the worst of the shifts. He could almost hear his soft bed calling out to him, promising warmth instead of the humid air they had been standing in for the last couple of hours.

At the sound of a wonderful musical laughter, his head snapped back towards the gate.

Treville came walking, leading his horse by the reins, with a young woman who was still laughing heartily. Long wavy blonde hair fell below her shoulders, framing her face. Beneath her thin eyebrows, forest green eyes sparkled. Her tawny beige skin was flushed from the cold. The dress she wore had once been a lovely shade of light blue, but was now slightly torn and spotted with dirt.

A stable boy appeared to take the horse into the stables, and Treville led her towards the two musketeers who couldn't take their eyes of the her.

"Meet Aramis and Marsac – both newly commissioned musketeers," the captain said, gesturing to the two of them. "This here is mademoiselle Chevalier-"

"Oh no," she cut him off, "no mademoiselle. Please just call me Iris."

Aramis reached out and took her hand in both of his.

"Our pleasure to meet you, Iris," he said with a charming smile and kissed her hand. Marsac gave her slight inclination of his head, and remained silent. All of a sudden he wasn't so tired any more.

"I see it's been a slow morning," Treville muttered, nodding towards the target. Aramis gave a shrug and ran a hand through his long hair.

"We had to do something to keep warm."

"You must have been at it for a while," Iris commented, looking at the daggers that stuck out of the target. On the long table they stood next to, lay a few more, ready to be thrown. Absent-mindedly, she picked one of them up and turned it around in her hand.

"Be careful with those, they're sharper than they look," Marsac quietly warned her, but before he had finished his sentence she threw it towards the target. They all watched as it sank into the very centre, the impact knocking one of the other daggers loose. She felt a triumphant thrill go through her as it clattered to the ground, and turned back towards the musketeers.

Aramis stared at her in surprise. Marsac's jaw had dropped. Treville just shook his head in wonder. Iris quickly changed her own expression to one of indifference.

"Must be beginners luck," she lied with a smile, figuring it would be best not to mention how she had just half a year ago been learning to use a bow and arrow, in secret, with one of the servants back at the mansion. It had done wonders for her eye-hand coordination.

Treville cleared his throat, and went serious.

"I have some business to attend to, but I'm sure you two will help Iris with whatever she needs – dry clothes, some food and a place to rest."

Giving her a nod, he turned and walked towards a wooden staircase.

"Marsac – if you will come with me for a moment," he called over his shoulder, not stopping. Marsac groaned inwardly and went after his captain, leaving Iris and Aramis, who had finally shaken off his surprise.

He made a sweeping motion towards a door leading away from the courtyard they stood in.

"Shall we?"

Iris followed him though a hallway, up a staircase, and down another hall. As they passed door after door, she wondered just how big the musketeer garrison was.

Aramis glanced at her as they walked, wondering what had happened to her to make her appear like this. She noticed, and nervously smoothed her hands over her dress.

"I can see my appearance puzzles you."

"It does raise a few questions."

"Let's just say I've had a long night."

He had been about to inquire for more information, but something in her voice made him hold his tongue. Aramis caught a slight change in her eyes, though she did a good job of covering it up. He slowed down when they reached his room.

"I'm afraid all my best dresses are being cleaned as we speak, so we'll have to make do with what we can find," he joked, successfully bringing back a smile on her face.

"I'll take what I get."

As he went through a dresser, looking for something that would fit her, Iris let her eyes wander. His room was very orderly. On a table next to the bed lay a worn out copy of the bible. She would never have guessed he was the religious type. Pistols of different sizes were neatly placed on a desk. A grey hat with a colourful feather hung on a chair.

"See if these fits," Aramis said as he held out a pair of dark breeches and a clean white shirt. Iris took them and looked at him expectantly. He stood for a moment before realising she was waiting for him to leave.

"I'll wait outside," he declared, and rushed from the room. When the door closed behind him, Iris sighed in relief. This was the first moment alone she had had since being found by Treville.

Their ride to Paris had been shorter than she imagined. One or two times she had nodded off, lulled to sleep by the rocking motions of the horse. When they had neared Paris, he had asked her if there was anywhere in particular she wanted to go. Iris had admitted to not knowing of any places in Paris and had gladly accepted his offer to let her stay at the garrison for the time being. She had waited for him to begin asking questions, but none came. After a while they had slid off the horse, to walk the way back to the garrison, and Iris had listened to him tell tales of his time as captain of the musketeers.

The feeling of security she had felt after learning of his position had only grown as they talked. Somehow she had managed to evade any questions of where she came from, and why she had been running away when he found her. She wouldn't want to lie to him – especially after the kindness he had shown her – but was sure that discussing the circumstances of her escape wasn't an option. Making a mental note to have a story ready for when the questions eventually would come, she started slid out of the still damp dress.

Aramis' clothes were a few sizes too big, but she was glad to find that she wouldn't need a belt to keep the breeches up. The shirt he had given her felt soft, the softness fabric got when it was worn regularly. Sliding it over her under-shirt, she glanced at her boots. Walking through the forest at night, in the rain, had done them no good, but they would have to be cleaned another time. Balling up the dress in her hands, she opened the door and found Aramis waiting.

"All good?" he asked.

"Much better," she admitted. He eyed the balled up dress in her hands, and took off down the hall, looking intently on the doors he passed. Iris went after him.

"I'm sure one of these are available... let's see, yes. Thirteen," he muttered to himself and came to a stop by a door. Next to it was the number thirteen, painted in black that had faded with time. He opened the door and took the dress from her, leaving it on a chair, before closing it again.

"You must be getting hungry," he stated, not wanting to leave her out of his sight. Iris had a similar feeling, and after a moment she heard her stomach growl. Aramis took it as confirmation and led her back towards the courtyard.

"You're in for a treat – our cook, Serge, takes great care of us."

* * *

When they re-entered the courtyard, there was more activity than when she had arrived. Musketeers were now going about their business. Some of them stared at her as they passed, and she figured a woman wearing men's clothes was very much out of place.

Marsac, who had been talking to another musketeer, joined them as Iris noticed the pauldron they all wore on their right shoulder. Each one was unique, though they all bore the fleur-de-lis that was the symbol of the musketeers. They all had marks and scratches, some more than others. Neither Aramis nor Marsac were wearing theirs at the moment.

Serge did indeed take care of them. He took one look at her, and started filling a bowl with some porridge from a pot he had been stirring. Overhearing her when she said it was more than enough, he kept on filling the bowl before setting on a table before her. After tasting it, she didn't mind at all. It was delicious.

They watched her eat her way through her breakfast, before Marsac broke the silence.

"If you don't mind me asking, how exactly do you know Treville?"

"I don't think I've ever seen him go that long without snapping at anyone," Aramis added curiously. Iris took a deep breath, and tried to sound casual.

"We've never met before this morning."

When they didn't say anything, she continued.

"Last night I began a... shall we say, a clean slate, with my life. Captain Treville was kind enough to offer me a lift to Paris when our paths crossed."

"And do you plan to stay long?" Aramis asked. Iris chuckled and shook her head.

"I wouldn't want to take advantage of you all, I'm sure you have better things to do than look after me."

* * *

She had excused herself and found her way back to room number thirteen before they could ask her any more questions. Curling up under the blankets on the bed, she felt how exhausted she had become.

Tomorrow, she would thank Treville, Aramis and Marsac for their help and then she would disappear into the streets of Paris and never see them again. The thought had her saddened for a moment, but it would be better that way. So far, she had been lucky. A kind soul had offered her sanctuary, but her demons would still be following her, and knowing the determination of the comte, she knew he would at this moment be throwing everything he had into finding her.

Yes, tomorrow she would leave. Iris Chevalier would be nothing more than a memory to the musketeers she had met.

* * *

Two weeks later, she still hadn't left.

Iris almost expected Treville to throw her out after a week had passed, but he simply treated her like he had meant for it to be so all along. When ten days had passed she stopped telling herself that she would leave the next day. Now, two weeks in, she started to feel at home.

She owed a lot of it to Aramis and Marsac. Whenever she suggested it was time for her to leave, they found a way to keep her there another night. They quickly sensed her discomfort at discussing her past, so they stopped questioning it. The two of them made her feel more relaxed than she ever remembered being, so the longer she stayed, the harder it seemed to part with them.

When duty called and they weren't around, Iris went to the kitchen to offer a helping hand to Serge, feeling it would be the least she could do in exchange for living freely at the garrison. Most of the work he had her do was like what she had done at the mansion.

It seemed easy to loose herself in the world of the musketeers, and completely forget about the life she had had before.

The musketeers seemed to accept her presence almost immediately. Sometimes she suspected this was because Treville wanted it like that – it was easy to see that they all had a great deal of respect for their captain. Iris soon understood what Aramis had said about him snapping at people. He wasn't an angry man, simply a man who needed things done. When she was around, the lines on his forehead disappeared, and he automatically acted more calmly.

The garrison itself had become familiar to her. Treville had handed her a key to room number thirteen, calling it hers. Aramis had joked about the superstition of the number, but Iris had brushed the thought away. She didn't believe in such things.

There were certain things about the place that she soon connected with the musketeers. A smell of gunpowder and horses. The sound of swords clashing. The obvious brotherhood and familiarity between the men who bore the fleur-de-lis with more pride than she had ever seen anyone show before.

It had taken her two weeks to realise that she wanted the same. She wanted to truly be part of the bond they all shared. She wanted to do what they did, to feel like she could make a difference.

She had never given it much thought before, but hearing Aramis and Marsac tell stories of their work, to so casually mention how they had yet again escaped death, she wanted to feel the thrill of it.

This wasn't a woman's world. Everyone knew it. She definitely knew it. It wasn't only frowned upon, it was irregular. Fighting was a man's field of expertise. Iris sometimes found herself dreaming of proving everyone wrong.

"Iris, do you know what you're doing?"

The sound of Marsac's voice brought her out of the jumbled thoughts in her mind. They were sitting on either side of the table in the courtyard of the garrison. Marsac had been disassembling his pistol to properly clean it – Aramis had scolded him for not doing so more often. She had quickly learned that Aramis held a great deal of respect for his weapons, and much like anything else in his life he made a big deal out of keeping everything clean and orderly. Iris had often watched him tend to his own pistol, almost as if it was a living thing.

Marsac was frowning and she followed his gaze down to her hands. While her mind had been occupied, her fingers had grabbed onto the parts on the table in front of her and she had started to assemble them without noticing.

He leaned in and gently took it from her hands, looking it over with wonder.

"Oh Marsac, I'm sorry, I had no idea I was doing that," she apologized. She stopped when he began chuckling, the wonder still clear in his eyes.

"No Iris, this is... this is right. Where did you learn that?"

Now it was her turn to frown.

"I haven't. I mean, I've seen Aramis do it a few times, but I've never actually made an effort to try it myself."

"You are unbelievable Iris, do you know that? First the perfect aim with a dagger and now this? Unbelievable."

He put the half-assembled pistol back on the table, and continued cleaning the rest with a mischievous smile.

"If you can assemble a pistol after simply watching someone do it, imagine what you could do if you actually had someone teach you," he jested quietly. Iris felt her heart beat faster. She leaned closer to him, over the table, and spoke just loud enough for him to hear.

"Maybe someone should."

His hair, that was usually tied away from his face, had fallen down like a curtain, shielding his reaction. Slowly he put down what he held in his hands and looked at her seriously.

"Iris what are you-"

She held up a hand and spoke quickly. Her eyes were shining with enthusiasm.

"Marsac I know it sounds mad, but I really think-"

"Do you have any idea what people would say-"

"No one would have to know-"

"Treville would **kill** me."

They looked at each other in silence. Iris held her breath as he searched her eyes, only to realise she was serious.

"What if you get hurt?"

"What if I don't? Would it really be such a bad idea?"

She had reached out and put her hand on top of his. For half a second he tensed at her touch and then she watched as he silently gave in.

"Perhaps it wouldn't," he sighed and she grinned.

"When do we start?"

* * *

**A/N**

**Let me just thank everyone who had given my story a look. This story serves as a prequel (to what you will have to wait and find out) and I hope you find it enjoyable. Let me know what you think x**


	3. Chapter 3

_"__We make mistakes__  
We rise again  
We choose the road we shouldn't take_

_We bend the rules_  
_We cross the line_  
_It's just enough to feel alive"_

Who We Are - Boyzone

* * *

"Relax your grip, it makes the movements flow easier," Marsac instructed and sent another blow her way. Iris parried it and took a defensive stance again.

"One more time?" she asked, flexing the fingers that held on to the hilt. They had only been training for an hour, but her heart was beating fiercely in her chest. Marsac looked her over and sheathed his sword.

"I think you've had enough for today," he declared. Iris groaned in frustration, but was secretly glad he decided to cut their training short. It was exhausting, not that she would ever admit it.

They had been at it for little over a week now. Marsac had taken her to the outskirts of Paris, where they had found a good place to train. It was deserted, so no one would bother them. They hid the sword she had been using in a hollow tree trunk and made their way back to the garrison.

"You shouldn't push yourself so much," he began, glancing at her as they walked. "You may be an incredible fast learner, but no one can master something like this in a matter of days."

"Yes, yes, Rome wasn't built in a day," she uttered, still slightly out of breath. He had said the same words to her the day they had begun.

"If it's any consolation, I had to practice for months to get to where you are now."

Iris chuckled.

"That does make me feel better."

He continued staring at her with a hint of pride in his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was full of adoration.

"I mean it when I say you're good Iris. This isn't just about the technique, it's about intuition and control... and passion. You've got it all."

Iris felt herself starting to blush at his words, and he quickly cleared his throat and reverted back into his usual relaxed and joking self.

"All you lack is strength and some stamina."

She turned towards him with mock hurt on her face.

"Are you calling me weak?"

"I never said weak! But the stronger you get, the longer you last in a fight."

"Stamina," Iris muttered with half a smile. "I'll give you stamina."

Marsac shook his head as she took off down the road they had been walking on, and felt something flutter inside him. He had been happier since Iris had come to the garrison. Though she had planned to only stay a few days, he was glad she still lingered. It was part of why he had agreed to give her lessons – it gave her a reason to stay.

Realising he wanted her to stay with them for good, he ran after her.

* * *

Aramis was descending the stairs from Treville's office when they returned to the garrison. He watched them fall down on a bench by their usual table, deep in discussion.

"What have you two been up to," he asked as he neared them.

"We went for a walk," they said innocently in perfect unison. Aramis looked from Iris to Marsac and back again. They had been acting strangely secretive for some time now.

"I just came from Treville," he muttered, eyes still going back and forth between them. "There's been some changes with our guard duties."

"That's my cue to leave," Iris said and made her way towards the kitchen to see if Serge needed a hand with anything.

"What horrible shift have we been left with this time?" Marsac groaned. Aramis had been watching Iris leave, and when she was out of earshot he rounded on Marsac, forgetting all about Treville and guard duties.

"What is it you're not telling me about you two?"

Marsac blinked and swallowed hardly. He had never been good at explaining his way out of things when he was put on the spot. Hoping the expression on his face was one of confusion, he shrugged.

"I'm not sure I know what you mean."

Aramis sat down on the bench and gave him a knowing smile.

"The whispering, the sneaking around, disappearing for hours at a time."

Marsac let out a nervous laugh.

"Leave it to you to imagine the worst. Whatever you think, it's not like that."

"What is it like then?" Aramis inquired, smiling as his friend squirmed.

"She's not... I don't even... why would you think-"

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," Aramis assured him, raising his hands in defeat. "But remember, I always find out. One way or another."

Marsac scoffed, and quickly changed the subject.

"What did Treville say?"

"We're to report at the palace in the morning," Aramis explained, letting the subject of him and Iris go.

"Better get some rest then," Marsac said, and made his way towards the lodgings. Aramis watched him go, wondering if his friend realised that they hadn't even had dinner yet.

_You're avoiding me_, he thought and grinned to himself. Whatever was going on between Marsac and Iris, he would soon find out.

* * *

_Iris walked through the halls of the mansion, searching every room for her mother. There was to be a dinner party that night, celebrating the return of comte Demont's son, and they were supposed to be out gathering flowers for table decorations._

_Not paying attention, she almost ran into Elaine who was carrying a stack of freshly cleaned and folded linens. _

_"__Look where you're going, dear," she warned the little girl. Iris stared helplessly up at the older woman._

_"__I cant find my mother anywhere, Elaine," she cried. _

_"__I think I saw her by the masters rooms some time ago," she muttered, a crease forming between her eyes. The little girl took off immediately._

_She didn't slow down before she reached the comtes private office. The door stood slightly ajar, and looking through it she saw her mother stand before a huge desk. In the chair behind it, the comte watched her, his face convulsed with anger. _

_"__Have I not treated both of you well?!" _

_"__Of course, my lord," her mother assured him. "You have been more than good to us, especially after the death of Iris' father. I feel his presence everywhere... I simply want my daughter and I to have a new start somewhere else."_

_He groaned and rubbed his hands against his temples. _

_"__So you plan to leave?" he asked, trying to keep his voice controlled._

_"__The day after tomorrow. That way we can settle in nicely in Paris for her tenth birthday."_

_"__What are you doing?" _

_Iris turned around with a gasp at the sound of another voice. The speaker was the comtes son, Andre, who looked down at her with dark eyes._

_"__Are you spying on my father?" he demanded, and Iris felt herself grow smaller._

_"__I just wanted to find my mother..." she stammered, looking at the ground. Andre sneered._

_"__Look at me when you speak! Don't you have any manners, girl?"_

_Iris felt tears form in her eyes when the door opened and her mother looked at them with the comte hovering closely behind her._

_"__Come, Iris," she said, taking her daughters hand. Iris looked back, seeing both men watching them as they walked away._

_"__Are we going somewhere mother?" she asked curiously, already feeling better from her run-in with Andre. Her mother gave her a wide smile and leaned down to whisper in Iris' ear._

_"__We're going on an adventure."_

_Her mother grew sick that night. Iris stood by her mothers bed as Elaine tended to her. When she felt pressure on her hand, she looked up to see the comte stare intently at her. _

_"__Don't worry, mademoiselle Chevalier. I'm sure she will recover by morning."_

_But she didn't. The next day was the same. She could almost see her mother wither away before her eyes. The night before her birthday, Iris had curled up against her mothers side._

_"__You'll be better soon, wont you?" she asked with wide open eyes. Her mother had attempted to give her a smile, but the effort was too much and she started coughing violently again, as she had done for the past days. Elaine, who had been sitting next to her, leaned over to wipe away a trickle of blood from her mothers mouth._

_"__Aimée, do you want something to sleep on?" Elaine suggested quietly. Her mother gave the older woman a slight nod, and watched her leave the room._

_"__You know I love you very much, Iris," she whispered, planting a kiss on her daughters forehead. _

_"__I love you too, mother." Iris felt tears run down her cheeks. Aimée Chevalier reached out to brush them away with her thumb._

_"__Thank god you have your fathers eyes," she muttered, loosing herself in a memory. Iris sniffed. _

_"__You'll be better for tomorrow, wont you mother? We're still going on an adventure, aren't we?" _

_Her mother blinked a few times and refocused on Iris. _

_"__Of course..."_

_Elaine re-entered the room, carrying a bottle of brandy and a glass. Filling it, she held it to Aimée's lips. _

_"__Easy, easy..." _

_Aimée let out a sigh as the brandy burned it's way down her throat. Turning her head to the side, she gave Iris a mischievous smile._

_"__Do you want an early birthday present, sweetheart?" _

_Iris felt excitement fill her._

_"__You have to promise me you will take good care of it," she whispered and loosened the bracelet she carried on her right wrist. Sliding it onto Iris' wrist, she looked at her daughter seriously. "Your father gave me this. You'll take care of it, wont you?"_

_Iris gently touched the bracelet, two silver chains joined together at the lock, and buried her face in her mothers shoulder._

_As she drifted off she heard her mother beg Elaine to look after her. When she woke up again, Aimée Chevalier was no more. _

_The household came to pay their respects, but Iris was too lost in trying to understand what was happening to notice anything._

_Suddenly she was pulled into a tight hug. The comte knelt down next to her, and leaned in to whisper in her ear._

_"__I'll take care of you now."_

* * *

Iris woke up covered in sweat, breathing frantically. She could still clearly hear the sound of his voice, as though he was sitting next to her. Holding on tightly to the bracelet she had received 8 years ago, she forced herself to take deep breaths, and slowly she calmed down. Tears ran from the corners of her eyes into her hair. Swinging her legs over the side of her bed, she slowly stood up and washed her face in the bowl of water that stood on the desk. She needed to remove every trace of her dream, or perhaps it was a nightmare, before walking out of her room. Aramis and Marsac would be waiting for her, she was sure of it.

Pulling on the dress she had laid out the night before, she watched her reflection in the water. A look of fear and sadness still lingered in her eyes. There was no way she could explain this to her friends, without having to tell them everything. Grabbing her cloak, she decided to make a run for it. At least for today, she needed to get away.

"There she is!" Aramis announced, the second she set foot in the courtyard. Though it was nearing the end of October, and the temperature had fallen drastically, they both sat at the table, as per usual.

"Happy birthday," Marsac greeted her. Iris kept her eyes on the ground, hoping her hair would shield her troubled look from them.

"Thank you," she mumbled, and inched closer to the gates.

"Are you going somewhere?" Aramis asked her, rising from his seat. Iris took a deep breath and tried to sound cheerful.

"I just have a few things to do... I'll be back before long."

"Iris, are you all right?"

Marsac had also come closer. Getting a feeling of walls closing in on her, she quickly said, "Of course I am." Instead of sounding reassuringly it came out as a sob.

A hand closed around her wrist, and she quickly pulled away.

"Can we do anything?" One of them said. Her vision had blurred and a loud buzzing filled her ears.

"Just leave me alone!"

They watched her rush through the gate and disappear around a corner. Aramis looked at Marsac and saw his own worry mirrored on his face.

"Should we...?"

"We probably should."

* * *

Iris had no idea where she was. Her feet had carried her down unfamilliar streets, without her noticing.

It was hard to remember when she had last felt happy on her birthday. The loss of her mother had overshadowed the joy she was supposed to feel at turning a year older. And on top of it all she now felt guilty over her reaction towards Aramis and Marsac, who didn't know better.

Gazing down a narrow street, she suddenly froze in place. A man stood leaning over a young woman – she looked younger than Iris – holding her against the wall. She recognized the way he looked at her. It was the way the comte had looked at Iris.

Feeling a burning sensation wash over her, she made her way towards them. The woman whimpered in fear, making him grin.

"Leave her alone," Iris called angrily at him. He turned his head around, looked her over and brought his attention back to the woman.

"Run along, girl," he barked. The woman whimpered again.

"I said," Iris hissed. "Leave. Her. ALONE." On the last word she grabbed the back of his jerkin and pulled him away from the woman.

With unexpected speed he turned around and closed his hands around her throat. The woman took the first opportunity she got to run down the street and disappear. He let out a growl and forced her back against the wall, tightening his grip around her throat.

"You should learn to stay out of things that doesn't concern you," he whispered harshly. Iris tried to pry his hands off her, but was quickly loosing strength. Black spots appeared at the edges of her vision.

He leaned closer, and she felt his breath on her neck.

"Not so tough, are you now, girl," he breathed.

"If you want to keep breathing you will let her go," a voice said, followed by the unmistakable sound of a pistol being ready to fire. Iris felt the fingers around her throat flinch before they disappeared. She slid a little way down the wall, clutching at her throat, and for the second time that day she tried to breathe normally.

"If you ever try anything like that again, I will pull the trigger," the voice, that she now recognised as Marsac's, threatened. She heard footsteps retreating, and then he appeared in front of her.

"Iris! Did he hurt you?"

Breathing deeply, she felt relief at seeing him. Then, a second later, she felt annoyed.

"Did you follow me?"

He let out an exasperated laugh.

"Are you serious? No thank you?"

"You actually followed me."

"Good thing I did – have you gone mad? What were you thinking?!"

Iris had somewhat regained her breath, though she still felt a bit light-headed.

"I wanted to help. God knows what he would have done to her..."

"Right now I'm more concerned with what he could have done to you."

Worry and fear lined every inch of his face. Iris closed her eyes and exhaled deeply.

"New lesson," he said softly. She reopened her eyes and stared curiously at him. "Do not attack an opponent bigger than you, without a plan."

"What do I do when every opponent is bigger than me?"

Marsac reached out a hand, and brushed a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear.

"You start thinking," he explained. After a moment he reached a hand into his pocket and produced a little ball of cloth.

"If you can wait five minutes without getting into trouble, I have something for you."

"Marsac, I really don't-"

"No presents, I know. You already told me. But this is something I found, not bought, so it doesn't count."

He pressed the ball into her hand, with an expectant look. She bit her cheek as she looked down on it. A few days ago she had explicitly told them she didn't want anything. Still, her curiosity took the upper hand, and the unravelled the cloth.

Inside lay a small brass fleur-de-lis. On the top of it was a golden hoop.

"I found it lying around the garrison a long time ago," he said casually, not meeting her eye. "You said you didn't want anything, but I figured you could attach this to your mothers bracelet and always remember the musketeers -"

He stopped speaking when she threw her arms around him. He returned the embrace and relaxed.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for being a stubbornly great friend."

* * *

**A/N**

**Hello! I hope you keep finding my story enjoyable. This chapter has been about Iris and Marsac bonding - next chapter, Aramis gets to shine. Let me know what you think x **


	4. Chapter 4

_Get your guns_

_Our time is up, c'mon_

_Cause now it's time to run_

_We gotta make it out tonight_

Get Your Guns - Jamie Campbell Bower

* * *

November brought frost on every surface of Paris, and Iris' training was put on a hold. In the meantime, she kept herself occupied with more physical labour than she had ever done before.

She had improved immensely since their beginning. Finding it easier and easier to keep up with Marsac in a fight, she grew more confident and daring. The change had started to show - when Treville inquired her about it, she simply shrugged and explained how it must be what happened when growing older.

Aramis had also noticed a change in her. For some time he had been closely watching his two friends, trying to discover any signs of something more than friendship between the two of them. However, nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and as they all of a sudden stopped disappearing, he was more confused than ever.

When Treville sent Marsac and two other musketeers away to escort some important nobleman to his home in the country, Aramis took his chance to confront Iris. As the sun one afternoon appeared behind the clouds that had covered Paris like a grey blanket, he asked her to join him for a stroll.

"The sun is becoming a rare sighting - we should take advantage of it," he had argued.

So they had set off through the streets of Paris, every now and then exchanging light banter. Iris glanced at him as they had walked in silence for a few moments, and was surprised to see how serious he had become.

"A penny for your thoughts?" she inquired curiously.

"Can you afford it?" he countered with half a smile that didn't reach his eyes. Iris huffed.

"As a matter of fact, no, but thank you ever so much for reminding me."

They continued in silence, as Aramis again tried to find the courage to share what was on his mind. With any other matter, he would just have blurted it out there and then as he wasn't one to keep quiet. But, for the same reason as he didn't wish to discuss his own relationships, this was not something he wished to converse with her about.

Aramis was aware of his natural charm - sometimes using it to his own advantage. "It's my blessed curse," he would sigh to Marsac after catching the eye of a pretty woman. He was known to be somewhat of a ladies man, but never in his life had he shown any sort of disrespect to a woman. His relations were often based on a mutual attraction - after having felt what true love could be, just nine years prior, it didn't seem like nothing would ever compare.

Iris had been immune to his charms. In fact, she seemed to be immune to everyone who showed any interest towards her. Considering how secretive she was about her past, it only made sense how secretive she was with Marsac. Perhaps it was the age gap between the two of them, but Aramis had only ever seen Iris as a little sister. The mere thought of her being... intimate... with anyone made him uncomfortable and defensive. But seeing how Marsac was his best friend, and obviously cared deeply about her, he would be willing to accept it.

It was because of the brotherly feelings toward her he found it hard to broach the subject.

"This must be a record - I've never seen you go this long without talking," she mused, bringing him out of his thoughts. Taking a deep breath, he went straight to it.

"Iris, I wanted to ask about how you and Marsac disappear every now and then."

The smile on her face faltered.

"Now you mention it; I've been wanting to tell you something for some time now."

"There's no need. I already know."

Iris tensed, and looked at him with worried eyes.

"How could you possibly know?" she demanded. He glanced at her, eyebrows risen.

"You haven't exactly been discreet about it."

She fidgeted nervously, looking almost embarrassed.

"I can only imagine what you must think of me," she began, watching the ground. "Surely you must think that what we do is mad-"

"Not at all!" he insisted. "I've seen how happy it's made you - both of you - and I support it."

Iris came to a stop. When he turned to look at her, he saw relief on her face.

"You have no idea how much it means to hear you say that Aramis."

Aramis moved towards her and placed his hands on her shoulders, looking directly into her eyes.

"As long as he treats you well."

She laughed and shook her head.

"Actually, I'm sure he's been holding back on me. Perhaps there has been a couple of cuts and bruises, but it's nothing I cant handle."

Aramis felt his face go slack, and he stared at her in shock.

"Cuts.. and bruises..."

"He constantly insists on being careful," she continued, oblivious to the reaction on his face. "Honestly, I think I'm ready for something a bit more challenging. Just the other day I managed to disarm him. ME."

She grinned, eagerly waiting for him to join her in her enthusiasm. When he continued to stare shocked at her, she let her head tilt to her side.

"Aramis?"

He opened his mouth to speak, and then shut it again with a frown.

"Did you say disarm?" he asked confused, not quite understanding what was happening. Iris also frowned.

"That is what you call it when one knocks the opponents weapon out of his hand, is it not?"

"It's... are you telling me you and Marsac have been duelling?"

"Of course. What did you think we were doing?" she slowly asked, confusion clouding her eyes.

Aramis felt his face turn red. 'Leave it to you to imagine the worst,' Marsac's words echoed in his head as it dawned on him. The secrecy. They hadn't been running off to be together. He had been teaching her how fight. Of course.

"I thought... well, I didn't expect this," he admitted, letting his hands slide off her shoulders. Iris continued to stare confused at him.

"But you said you knew. You supported it. What did you think was going on?"

Before he could say anything, her eyes opened wide and she looked appalled.

"You thought that we... that Marsac and I-"

"I see now that that is NOT the case," Aramis quickly noted. She shook her head in disbelief.

"I know we've only known each other for a few months, but I see Marsac and yourself as brothers."

"The feeling is mutual," he assured her. She was still shaking her head, as though trying to shake off the very idea.

"At least you didn't propose this insane thought when he was around - could you imagine his reaction?" she rolled her eyes and turned to walk away. Aramis stared at her as she disappeared around a corner and felt compassion for his friend. There was no doubt she didn't feel what he felt for her. But surely she would know of Marsac's feelings. It was clear as day, written on his face whenever she was near.

_Either she just doesn't see it, or she is in denial_, he thought and made his way back to the garrison. This whole conversation had gone an entirely different place than he had imagined. _So help me God, let that be the last time I ever become involved in her love life_, he prayed.

* * *

That night, Iris had been helping Serge make stock of the garrisons provisions for the winter, when trouble arrived. Both of them looked up at the sound of yelling in the courtyard, and exchanging a look they ran out to see what was happening.

Treville, who had also heard the commotion, thundered down the stairs and ran towards a stranger who held on tightly to another man. The stranger was holding the other man, whom Iris recognised as a musketeer called Blaise, keeping him on his feet. She realised with a gasp that his leather jerkin was soaked with blood.

"... they got into a heated discussion, and before anyone could stop it, one of them fired his pistol," the stranger explained. Treville gave a nod of understanding and turned to Iris who had joined them.

"Iris, go to Aramis. Send him to the infirmary."

"Aramis? What can he-"

"Just hurry!"

She didn't need to hear it again, so she set off down the hall towards Aramis' room. It didn't make sense - Blaise was hurt, they needed to get a surgeon. What good would it do to fetch Aramis?

Knocking on his door, she didn't wait for a reply before opening. He was leaning forward, eyes closed in prayer. In his hands he was holding on tightly to a crucifix. He looked up at the disruption and eyed her curiously.

"I'm sorry, but - it's Blaise. He's been shot."

His eyes turned darker and he released the crucifix from his hands and flew towards his cupboard.

"Do you have a problem with blood?" he asked her, as he rummaged around, throwing stuff onto his floor. The usual order he held was disrupted.

"I suppose not," she said confused, watching as he leapt up, now holding onto a piece of leather, tightly rolled around something.

"Good. I may need your help," he declared and gently pushing her out of his room, he shot the door and took off down the hall. Iris followed him.

When they reached the infirmary, the stranger had left. Treville was standing over Blaise, who had been left on one of the cots. He was sickly pale, and shivering slightly.

Aramis went to his side, and glanced down at the musketeer.

"Didn't you once tell me pistols and wine doesn't do well together?" Aramis mused, as he unfolded the leather roll he had brought from his room. In the flickering light from the fire that lit up the infirmary, Iris saw several instruments, neatly lined.

"Bastard had it coming," Blaise groaned.

"I'm sure he did," Aramis nodded and rolled up his sleeves. Blaise flinched when Aramis gently touched his shoulder, and turned to Iris.

"The ball is still in his shoulder - it will be pretty grim," he announced, looking expectantly at her. Iris walked over to stand on the other side of the cot.

"Don't you worry about me – I can handle it."

"This is all very sweet, but that damn thing is hurting like hell," Blaise muttered between them. Aramis gave him an assuring smile.

"Then you're going to love this," he said as he reached for a bottle that stood on a table behind him. Pouring some of the dark liquid on the wound, Iris watched Blaise flinch in pain. After getting a bowl of water for cleaning the wound as Aramis asked, Iris placed a soothing hand on Blaise's forehead to keep him calm. Aramis was looking intently into the little hole, trying to locate the ball.

"I didn't know you were trained in medication," Iris mumbled after a while. Blaise, who had been given plenty of wine to sedate him, was half asleep on the table. Not breaking his concentration, Aramis shrugged.

"In theory, I'm not. Some time ago I picked up a few tricks, and after helping out in a situation like this I became the unofficial medic of the musketeers."

After removing the ball, and cleaning the blood from Blaise's shoulder, Aramis stitched him up and dressed the wound. Making sure he had regained some colour in his face, they left him to get some rest, promising to return to check on him later.

"You took that better than I would have imagined," he noted as he washed the blood of his hands.

"I'm tougher than I look."

"Right. Part of your training, I believe."

Iris sighed and looked at him apologetically.

"I wasn't sure if you would approve, so I asked Marsac to keep quiet about it."

"Why wouldn't I approve?"

He turned to look at her with a frown. She crossed her arms and glanced around the deserted courtyard.

"It's not exactly the sort of thing women commonly do."

"You're not exactly a common woman."

They stood in silence as he dried his hands, and then he chuckled.

"What?"

"You disarmed Marsac?"

"I did. Sadly, I may just forget everything I learned before we can start again."

"If what you need is a place to practise, I might have an idea."

* * *

When Marsac returned from his mission, he was surprised to be greeted by Aramis and Iris who immediately brought him to their new place of training. Aramis knew of an abandoned house in a run-down part of Paris, that would give them shelter from the cold.

It was a two story house, that might have been beautiful once, but certainly didn't show it now. The windows were boarded up and plants covered every wall. To avoid attracting attention, he took them to the back of the house, where a single window, that had been smashed, could give them entrance.

"You want us to climb up there?" Marsac said, gesturing up to the window.

"Are you afraid of heights?" Iris questioned.

"I'm afraid of crushing my skull when I fall."

Aramis tugged at the plants that thickly covered the wall and gave them an assuring smile.

"It's perfectly safe."

Inside, the house was just as damaged as it seemed outside. The walls had cracked and the ceiling above them was falling apart several places.

"How do you know of this place?" Iris asked as she walked around the room. Aramis gave a shrug.

"It's good if you ever need to... get away."

Both of them looked curiously at him, so he quickly continued to speak.

"It's covered and quiet. As good a place as any to take up training again."

* * *

**A/N**

**Next chapter brings a bit of action - thanks to everyone who gives this a read, it's much appreciated.**

**Also, should I stop updating it's because my computer is in a bad place right now. I'm working on getting a new one, so I can continue writing. **


	5. Chapter 5

_Take a breath,_

_Take it deep. _

_'Calm yourself', He says to me_

_If you play, you play for keeps. _

_Take the gun and count to three._

_Im sweating now,_

_Moving slow,_

_No time to think. My turn to go_

Russian Roulette - Rihanna

* * *

Iris was breathing deeply, focusing on the two men approaching from different sides. On her left, Aramis, on her right, Marsac.

"Two against one? That hardly seems fair," she had argued, much to their enjoyment.

"You're more likely to be attacked by more than one in a battle," Aramis lectured with a grin. Ever since he had joined them, Iris found her training more demanding. Where Marsac had treated her with care, Aramis sought to push her further than she ever had before.

"We're not training her to become an assasin," Marsac cautioned when Aramis had suggested taking her out to properly teach her how to shoot.

"She likes to be challenged - besides, she shows greater promise than some of the men in the regiment."

"But she's NOT one of the men in the reginemt. You shouldn't encourage her like this."

"Me?" Aramis blurted, his eyebrows almost disappearing into his hairline. "Don't forget, you started this."

Iris sensed the lunge from one side, and quickly lifted her sword to ward off the blow. Ducking from an attack from the other side, she remembered what they had taught her earlier.

"'What ever you do, don't end up on the ground. But if you do, be sure to drag your opponent with you.'"

Kicking out, she had Aramis on his back and was standing over him in seconds.

"Any last words?" Iris said dramatically, before reaching out a hand to help him up.

"The student becomes the master," he noted, giving Marsac a shove to stop him from laughing.

* * *

"You two! My office, now."

Aramis and Marsac glanced at each other and went up the stairs towards Treville's office. Iris had parted with them on their way back, having some errands to run before returning.

The two men took their places in front of the desk, that was currently littered with scrolls of paper. In his chair, Treville watched them expectantly.

"Tomorrow, the two of you are to escort the king and queen to inspect the newly restored wing at the palace."

"I thought Blaise and-" Marsac began, but was cut off by Treville.

"His shoulder still hasn't mended, though he may pretend otherwise."

Aramis gave a nod of understanding, and waited to be dismissed. However, Treville kept looking expectantly at them.

"Was there anything else captain?"

"Yes."

When he didn't continue, Aramis grew uneasy. Somehow, he knew he wouldn't like whatever the captain had on his mind. Next to him, Marsac thought the same.

"Which is...?"

Treville leaned forward in his chair, looking at them both as though he wanted to see right through them.

"I'm waiting to give you a chance to tell me first."

Aramis frowned.

"What do you want us to tell you?"

"Perhaps you can start with why the two of you have been teaching Iris to fight."

He froze in place. Marsac had inhaled deeply in surprise, and seemed to be holding his breath. Looking at thair captain, Aramis prepared himself for the anger that didn't come. Treville didn't seem angry. But then again, it was always hard to tell.

"How do you..."

"You think I'm unaware of what happens in my garrison?"

"Captain, we never meant-"

"For me to find out?"

Neither of them dared to speak, in case they would say something to enrage the still calm man in front of them. He looked them over, and sighed.

"I suspected she might try something like this. The night I found her, she was afraid. Said she was running, but not from who or where. Tell me, have anyone been following her?"

* * *

Iris pulled her cloak tighter around her, though it didn't seem to make much difference. The sun had started it's descent, and the crowd at the market was thinning. While she waited for the salesman to return with the supplies she had requested, she let her mind wander.

It was still hard to explain the completeness she felt when she was training with Aramis and Marsac. A part of her wished to take it further, to join them and do good in the world, but reality was quite different. No one in their right mind would allow a woman to become a soldier, and certainly not the musketeers. It hadn't been why she had done it in the first place, but the more she learned the more she wished for it.

'Wish all you like - it will never be more than that,' she thought bitterly. Glancing around the market-place she found her eyes drawn to a dark corner - and gasped in shock.

* * *

"Who would be following her?" Marsac said, stepping closer to the desk.

"She never told me, but I'm certain that she is hiding from someone."

"Shouldn't we investigate further if she believes someone is after her?" Aramis asked, searching his mind for any hint Iris might have given to being followed.

"As I brought her back here, I tried to learn more of the circumstances, but she assured me she didn't want any trouble."

"She wanted a clean slate," Marsac remembered. Treville nodded.

"I suppose we never really tried to learn more about her past when we realised she didn't want to talk about it," Aramis muttered, massaging his neck.

* * *

Standing in the shadows, a man was looking in her direction. The confidence she had built since coming to Paris crumbled in seconds. A pair of piercing dark eyes locked onto hers, and had she not been frozen to the spot she would have turned and run away.

_He is too far away, there is no way to be sure_, a little voice inside her argued. But she was sure. She would always recognise Andre Demont.

* * *

"I'm sure we would have known if someone had sought her out," Treville continued. After a moments silence, a hint of a smile appeared on his face.

"Is she any good?"

"I... I'm sorry, what?" Aramis stammered, unaware that the conversation had returned to it's former subject.

"Can she fight?"

"She keeps up well enough with us," Marsac admitted, a look of pride spreading on his face.

"She's a quick learner," Aramis added, thinking of how she earlier had sent him on his back.

Treville huffed and leaned back in his chair, deep in thought.

"You would do me a favour of not mentioning this conversation to her," he said quietly, looking both of them in the eye. "I'd like to discuss it with her myself."

"So you're not angry?" Aramis asked, glancing at Marsac.

"I don't see why. There are no rules that says a woman cannot wield a sword. I would be angry if you brought her in harms way - which of course you **haven't**."

"The thought never crossed our minds," Marsac assured him, noticing the threatening sound in his captains voice.

"You don't know us well enough if you even have to ask," Aramis teased, as Treville rolled his eyes, and dismissed them.

* * *

"Mademoiselle?"

The salesman had returned and was holding out a box containing her purchase. When she looked at him, a concerned expression slid over his face.

"Are you quite all right, mademoiselle?"

"I...I...," she stammered, and turned her gaze back to the corner. The man was gone. Looking frantically around, she saw no one who even slightly resembled Andre.

_You must have imagined it_, the voice said, trying to calm her. Clenching her fists, feeling her nails dig into the palms of her hands, she turned back to the salesman with an apologetic look.

"Forgive me, I must have been lost in thought."

Taking the box from his hands, she quickly slid it inside her satchel and gave him a parting smile.

Not daring to look over her shoulder, she rushed to the garrison as fast as possible without dragging any attention to her.

Now that she wasn't seeing him, it was easier to convince herself that Andre hadn't been there. She had been allowing herself to feel safe for a long time now - and though she was confident that she could take on just about everyone who would stand in her way, there was still two men in the world that could fill her with terror.

The gates of the garrison in sight, she sighed in relief, and felt the tension leave her. She was home. She was safe.

* * *

Treville found her in the kitchen the next day, preparing a batch of dough. She looked up as he entered, and turned her attention back to the sticky mess in front of her.

"A rare sight seeing you in here, captain," she greeted him cheerfully. She had taken quickly to adressing him as captain, just like the musketeers did.

He came to a stop in front of her, holding on to his hat. When she looked up at him again, he was watching her with amusement.

"Can I help you with anything?" she inquired curiously. Clearing his throat, he turned serious.

"I was hoping you would accompany me on an errand or two - I have a few things I wish to run by you."

Iris stopped working the dough and shrugged.

"Of course - just give me a few minutes to put this away and we'll be off."

"You may want more than a few minutes," he muttered, eying the flour that coated her apron and arms.

"Why? Where are we going?" Iris asked with a frown, as she gathered the dough in a bowl.

"Before going anywhere, we have to make a quick stop at the palace."

Iris nearly dropped the bowl as she whipped around to look at him. She couldn't possibly have heard him right.

"The palace?! But I don't... I'm not..."

"There's no need to make a fuss, we'll barely enter before we have to leave."

Iris continued to stare at him in astonishment.

"I'm not sure I should..." she mumbled.

"Nonsense. You will be just fine, you'll be with me. I'll be in my office when you're ready."

Quickly putting the bowl away, she rushed to her room to wash every trace of flour off her. After that she braided her hair and changed into a clean dress. It didn't look any special, but it would have to do. Knowing she would look terribly out of place no matter what she did, she felt a surge of excitement mix with her nervousness.

Treville looked her over when she came to his office, and gave a nod of approval. Two horses were prepared for them, and a moment later they were on their way.

Iris has grown fond of the horses in her time at the garrison. Treville had taken her out once, letting her grow comfortable. However, she had soon realised that she much preferred walking.

* * *

The palace was unlike anything she had ever seen. Following Treville, she looked around her with great interest. The mansion where she had grown up couldn't compare - and she was sure nothing ever would. Everything she passed was spotless and perfect. The frames on the paintings that hung on the walls were adorned with gold and silver.

He led her through a series of rooms and halls, and for once Iris found herself lost. How big was this place?

She took a deep breath when they turned a corner and neared a small group of people. She recognised Aramis and Marsac, both standing guard near the king and queen, who were listening intently to a man explaining something. A blue cloak was thrown over each of their shoulders, something she had seen other musketeers wear when going to see the king.

At the sound of their footsteps, the group of people turned towards them.

"Ah, Treville!" the king exclaimed. Treville bowed, and Iris followed suit with a curtsy.

"Your majesties," she said respectfully.

The queen gave her a smile. Iris had heard of the kindness queen Anne showed to her subjects, and felt it instantly as she stood before her. King Louis barely seemed to notice her, but turned his attention to Treville. Iris stepped to the side, and caught Aramis' eye. He frowned confused at her, and in return she gave a little shrug. Clearly neither of them had any idea of what she was doing there.

As Treville and Louis spoke of security for an upcoming event, Iris looked up and down the hall they stood in. These parts of the palace had recently been restored. The walls still had a faint smell of fresh paint, and the floors barely showed a scratch - no one had walked here till today. Inhaling deeply, Iris caught a scent that didn't belong there.

It was a scent she connected with the garrison and the musketeers - most often with Aramis - but it seemed very much out of place here. Looking around, she tried to find the source of what was unmistakenly gunpowder. It seemed to grow stronger and for a moment she wondered if she was the only one who had noticed it.

An uneasy feeling washed over her and she glanced around and saw a little puff of white smoke emerge from behind one of the paintings.

"Captain!" she gasped, cutting off whatever Louis had been saying. Everyone turned to stare at her, with looks disapproval. No one interrupted the king.

"Really, Iris," Treville began, looking frustrated at her outburst. She, however, wasted no time being embarassed at her disrespect.

"It's gonna explode!"

The words had barely escaped her lips when fire erupted from the wall, blowing the group of people away. The sound was unlike anything Iris had ever heard before, and she feared she would never hear anything other than it again.

Everything was chaos, the only sounds were of the ceiling breaking apart. As it fell down, it filled the hall, creating a barrier. Louis, Treville, the architect who had been showing them around, Aramis and Marsac had been blasted to one side. As they came to, Aramis stared wildly around him, in search of any other dangers.

"Are you hurt your majesty?" demanded Treville as he helped Louis up from the floor. They were all covered by a layer of dust, that was still settling around them.

"What in Gods name was that Treville?!" he uttered, a look of shock on his face.

"I assure you, your majesty, we will do everything in our power to find out."

"Wait," Louis gasped. "Where's Anne?"

Marsac felt his throat close painfully as he looked around.

"Where's Iris?" he whispered soundlessly.

* * *

**A/N**

**Just getting used to typing on a new keyboard, so there may or may not be a few spelling mistakes... oh well. I'm danish. I don't have to write this with 100% perfection. Anyhow, things are heating up! Where IS Iris and Anne?**


	6. Chapter 6

_Tell me would you kill to save a life?__  
__Tell me would you kill to prove you're right?__  
__Crash, crash, burn, let it all burn__  
__This hurricane's chasing us all underground_

Hurricane – Thirty Seconds To Mars

* * *

"They must be trapped on the other side..." Treville suggested, not daring to think of the alternative. _The one day I decide to bring her with me_, he thought miserably as he walked closer to examine the explosion.

"I don't believe this was intended to harm anyone, sire."

"If it didn't mean to harm, then why was it there?" Louis inquired.

"A distraction perhaps," Aramis muttered, leaning closer to the wall of debris. There was no sound of life from the other side, only a few stones shifting. _Give me a sign_, he prayed. _Tell me they're both alive_.

"I'm afraid the only way to the other side is through, your majesty," the architect said, looking sadly at the remnants of the newly restored hall. "There is no adjoining rooms or halls around us."

"Well, what are you still here for?!" Louis demanded. "Find someone who can clear this mess out of the way!"

The architect gave a bow, and quickly made his way down the hall. When he rounded the corner, they all heard a loud gasp echo towards them, followed by a shot from a pistol.

The musketeers reacted quickly. Treville led the king towards the nearest door, just as the shooter looked around the corner. Aramis had his own pistol pointed towards the man and a second later the shot found it's target. They closed the door behind them, and listened for anyone advancing.

"I thought no one knew we were inspecting the restorations today Treville," Louis blurted, interrupting the silence. This wasn't the first, or the last, time people would come for him, but he certainly wasn't used to anyone entering the palace to kill him.

"Neither did I, your majesty," Treville answered tensely.

"Oh, but Anne is still out there! She will be defenceless if they find her."

"Iris will protect her, your majesty," Marsac quickly assured the king. As the king frowned, he instantly regretted having said anything.

"Surely you don't mean the rude young girl I met earlier?"

Aramis bit down hard on his tongue to keep back an angry retort. Iris was one, if not the most polite woman he had ever met.

"Mademoiselle Chevalier has... certain skills, unlike other women her age. Or women in general," Treville slowly explained.

Louis stared at the captain, not sure if he was hearing him correctly.

"You cant possibly expect me to believe that _that girl_ can keep the queen safe."

"I have every reason to believe she is more than up to it, though I can understand it must be hard to imagine."

Louis stepped closer to Treville, and now spoke in a dangerously low voice.

"There is no way a woman can defend ANYONE, let alone herself against such men. You disappoint me Treville," he hissed, looking at the captain in disbelief. "If ANYTHING happens to Anne, it will be on YOUR head."

Treville glanced at Aramis and Marsac, and hoped they were right about the words they had spoken of Iris yesterday. If not, more than her life would be at stake.

* * *

A loud ringing filled her ears when Iris opened her eyes. Pushing herself up on her elbows, she looked around her in surprise.

The ceiling above the explosion had caved, and she could glimpse the rosy walls of the room above her. The fallen debris had created a blockade in the hall, cutting everything off. At the sound of someone coughing next to her, Iris turned around and quickly crawled over to aid the queen.

A layer of dust had settled on the beautiful gown, and the blow had ruffled her hair, but otherwise Anne seemed unharmed. She looked up in surprise when Iris stopped next to her.

"Are you all right your majesty?" Iris asked concerned, helping Anne into a sitting position.

"A bit ruffled perhaps, but otherwise I feel fine," she answered. Anne glanced around them, a look of worry forming.

"Where are the others?"

"They must be on the other side of this, your majesty."

"You don't think anyone could be trapped underneath-"

The rest of her words drowned in the sound of a pistol being fired, echoing towards them. Iris felt her heart beat faster.

"What was that?" the queen whispered, her blue eyes filled with a sudden fear. Without the usual company of the musketeers, or even the cardinals red guard, she felt vulnerable.

"We must leave your majesty," Iris insisted, getting to her feet. Reaching out a hand to the queen, she glanced at the wall of debris again. Hopefully, the shot hadn't been fired at any of her friends on the other side.

Anne followed Iris closely down the hall, though she had no idea where she was headed. Her instinct just told her to get the queen as far away as possible – sooner or later they were bound to run into someone who could take them to Treville and the others.

Looking around a corner, she felt her heart sink. A group of men stood in a circle some distance down the hall, but Iris could easily see that they were neither musketeers nor red guards.

_They must be here to take away the king and queen_, she thought. Looking back at the queen behind her, she felt a stab of anger. Anne looked like a strong woman, only a few years older than herself. She knew the queen was kind, always taking her time with those who were underprivileged and in need of help. Not understanding why, she knew she would do whatever she could to keep this woman alive. The men had split up, and one of them was making his way towards the corner where they stood.

"Whatever happens, stay here your majesty," Iris whispered, taking a deep breath.

"What do you mean?" Anne whispered back, taking one of Iris' hands in hers. The gesture was touching – despite being afraid for her own life, she worried for Iris as well. Reaching into her boot, Iris withdrew a knife she had carried with her since almost being choked to death. Anne's look of worry turned to alarm at the sight of the knife, and Iris quickly gave her an assuring smile.

When the man was only a few paces from being able to see them, Iris stepped out into the open. She held the knife securely behind her back. The man stopped mid-step and gave her a wicked smile.

"You shouldn't be wondering the halls alone. There's no telling what could happen."

"I was just about to say the same," Iris muttered, loud enough for him to hear. The smile faltered and turned into a scowl.

"Step aside willingly, or I'll have to force you."

"I'm not going anywhere."

As he came closer, Iris desperately tried to remember everything Marsac and Aramis had taught her, but found it hard to concentrate with the adrenaline pumping through her veins.

When he lunged for her, she slashed the knife through the air, leaving a bloody streak over one of his arms. Letting out a hiss of pain, he shoved her to the side where she collided with the wall. The impact left her light-headed for a moment, and then she was pushed around to face him.

"Feisty one, aren't you," he snarled as he closed his hands around her throat. Her knife had disappeared from her hand, and she felt a throbbing in her head. The man towered over her, obviously enjoying having the upper hand.

"_New lesson,"_ she heard Marsac's voice say in her head. "_Do not attack an opponent bigger than you, without a plan." _

_"__What do I do when every opponent is bigger than me?" she had asked._

_"__You start thinking."_

Pulling her legs up beneath her, she pushed herself away from the wall, with more force than she had expected. Both of them tumbled to the floor, and Iris crept towards the knife she had lost earlier. As she her eyes fell upon it, she felt the air leave her lungs when he threw himself on top of her. A hand knocked her face into the floor, and she tasted blood from where her lip had split open.

"Why do women always insist on fighting back?" he cursed, holding her down. Frustration cursed through her and she reached out to close her hand around the knife.

"Death will be easy," he continued, twisting her around so he could look her in the eyes. He was too focused on her pain, to realise she held her weapon in her hand again. "Just give in – show your weakness."

"I am... not... weak!"

Grasping the knife tightly in her hand, she forced it into his chest. His eyes grew big in surprise, and a spasm went through him. Iris watched in silence as the life left him. As he struggled to breathe, she pulled the knife out, shoved him away from her.

Dragging a last shallow breath, the man was silent. Iris stood up slowly, her body trembling. Blood covered her hand that still held on tightly to the knife.

"My God."

Iris turned to see the queen stare at the dead man at her feet in awe.

"How?" she whispered, moving her eyes to meet Iris'. Before she could answer, they heard footsteps behind them. Iris whipped around to see another man who was staring confused at them. When his eyes fell on his fallen comrade, his hand moved towards the pistol on his belt.

Iris threw herself to the ground and grabbed a pistol from the dead man. The other had only just taken hold of his own, when Iris shot him.

Picking up the rest of his weapons, she walked back to the queen who still stared at her in awe.

"Perhaps I shall have the honour of explaining this to you some day, your majesty," she explained and gestured for the queen to follow her. "Right now, I'm afraid, we'll have to focus on other matters."

* * *

"The queen is safe!"

The words were repeated down the hall till they reached Aramis and Marsac. It hadn't been long before the sound of the explosion had attracted the red guards, and the search for the queen had begun. Almost everyone of the intruders had been killed, though a few had been left alive, but wounded, for questioning.

Aramis and Marsac glanced at each other and hurried towards Treville. The queen stood with the king, and Aramis felt relief when he saw that she was unharmed. Protection of the king and queen was an important part of their work, and it relaxed him to see the separation from her protectors hadn't resulted in any harm. Looking around, he saw Iris standing not far away from the royals, and his relief turned to dread.

Stains of blood was splattered over her dress, that now looked torn and dishevelled. Her knuckles had turned white from holding on to a knife, that was also bloody. Her face was streaked with dust and sweat, and he saw that her lip was split and swelling.

The worst thing he saw was her eyes. The joy he had grown so accustomed to had vanished. Though it had been no more than an hour since he had last seen her, she seemed to have grown older. She held herself differently, and an innocence he hadn't paid much attention to before had vanished.

Treville walked over to them, and glanced at Iris.

"Take her back to the garrison, Marsac, and keep her there till I return."

Iris didn't notice anything around her till Marsac stood in front of her.

"Why don't you let go of the knife?" he suggested slowly, reaching out to gently pry it free from her hands. When she let go, she tried flexing her fingers.

"We're going home," he continued, and put a hand on her back to lead her away from the crowd of people that had started to look at her. They stopped when the queen stepped towards them.

"I owe you my life," she announced. "Whatever I can do to repay you, let me know."

"I didn't do it to gain anything, your majesty," Iris whispered hoarsely, and let Marsac guide her away.

* * *

**A/N**

**And we're nearing the end! Next chapter is about dealing with her actions, and the much anticipated trip to Savoy...**

**I also want to thank everyone again, especially those who come back to read the new chapters. This story now has 600+ views, which is just awesome, so I thank you all and hope you stick with me and Iris.**


	7. Chapter 7

_Blood on the ground,__  
__Sun turning red.__  
__Head over heels,__  
__Over our heads._

_Trouble will rise,__  
__And tears will be shed.__  
__Wherever we go,__  
__Whatever comes next._

_We'll always-__  
__We'll always be-__  
__One for all,__  
__And all for one._

All For One – Five For Fighting

* * *

"I killed them."

Marsac looked up. It was the first thing she had said since leaving the palace. The trip back had been horrible. Though she hadn't showed it, he was sure she hadn't realised they were moving. It had continued when he brought her to the infirmary at the garrison, and led her to one of the cots. After bringing back a bowl of hot water and some clean towels, he saw she hadn't moved an inch. Even her eyes stood still – as though she didn't dare to blink.

Iris swallowed hardly and started breathing faster.

"I killed them," she repeated, starting to shake again. Marsac, who had been cleaning the blood of her hands, gently took her face in his hands and turned her to look at him.

"You cant think like that," he whispered pleadingly, not wanting her to disappear into herself again.

"But I did."

"If you hadn't, you would be dead."

"It felt so easy," she whispered, tears starting to fall from her eyes. She glanced down at her hands, and the bowl of warm water that had turned rosy.

"Iris," Marsac sighed. "Stop this."

"I killed them," she echoed again.

"Iris, stop!" he now scolded, giving her a little shake to get her attention. She stared into his eyes as more tears ran down her cheeks and onto his hands.

"Listen to me very closely; if you allow yourself to believe what you're saying, then you will never get past it. There is a fine line between killing because you have to and killing because you want to. As long as you stay on the right side, there is no reason to feel guilty for what you've done."

Exhaling deeply, he now started shaking his head.

"Training with us, and being out there... the difference is monumental. We never told you, because we never imagined you would experience it. And certainly not on this scale."

"I do feel guilty," she admitted, her voice breaking. "I feel guilty because I don't _feel _anything."

"All of this **just** happened, Iris. You need to give it time -"

"What sort of monster am I, when I don't feel anything at taking a life?"

"You are the kindest and bravest woman I have ever met!" he insisted, a wistful glint forming in his eyes. "Those men, **they** were monsters. **They** came to kill, and **you** made sure they never will again."

Marsac pulled her into a hug, and held her closely. She was still shaking, and her breathing was still fast, but after a while she started to relax.

"You cant see it yet," he muttered, resting his head on top of hers, "but soon enough you will be able to celebrate the fact that you've proven the king wrong. You know, he actually said no women could defend herself against such men and now I imagine he must feel very stupid."

Iris let out a hiccuping sound, that almost seemed like a laugh. Marsac felt a himself smile for a moment.

"You see," he whispered. "Everything will be clearer tomorrow when you've had a chance to rest."

"How can I?" she cried, worming her way out of the embrace. She looked exhausted, and her eyes had reddened from the tears.

"I see their faces every time I close my eyes."

"I may have something that will let you sleep without dreaming," he pondered. "But I warm you – you'll have one hell of a headache tomorrow."

* * *

Hoping he would be forgiven due to the circumstances, Marsac had broken into Treville's office and stolen a bottle of expensive brandy. After a few glasses, and a sedative they kept hidden in the infirmary, Iris had gone out like a light and was now sleeping peacefully in her bed.

Marsac had taken place on the staircase in the courtyard, nursing a glass of the brandy he had put aside for himself. With a sigh, he took a swig from the glass in his hands, and closed his eyes.

_You called her kind and brave, but why stop there? You could have told her how beautiful and intelligent she is, and how desperately you want her to love you_, he groaned at himself. Tilting his head back, the last of the brandy disappeared in seconds. He felt it warm it's way down his throat and groaned again. She wouldn't love him – not the way he wanted her to. Iris had never spoken of anyone else, never even shown that sort of interest in anyone, least of all him.

Like Aramis, Iris had a natural charm that attracted everyone around her. He had been fool enough to fall for it, and now months later he was still falling.

The sound of hooves brought his attention away from his own thoughts, and he looked up to see Treville and Aramis return. The light had dimmed in the last hour, but through the darkening twilight he could see their worried faces.

"Where is-"

"She's sleeping," Marsac interrupted, getting up from his seat on the stairs. A stable boy appeared and took the reins of their horses, and Treville gestured for them to follow him to his office.

"We've been interrogating some of the surviving men who attacked the palace," he explained to Marsac as he threw his cloak over the back of his chair.

"Who were they?"

"Hired people – none of those men were smart enough to find a way into the palace on their own. They were simply there to spread destruction and take down the king and queen."

"And Iris?" Aramis questioned. He had taken position against the wall, with his arms crossed over his chest.

"She feels guilty."

"For saving the queens life?" A frown formed on Aramis' face.

"She feels guilty because she doesn't feel anything," Marsac explained, looking from one to the other. "Everything happened so quickly for her, so I don't think she's quite processed what she's done yet."

"I overheard her majesty explain what went down," Treville mumbled, taking place in his chair. "Iris took down five of them before the guards appeared."

"Five! No wonder she's so out of it."

"And now we'll have to wait and see what happens – the outcome of this could change everything."

"What do you mean?" Aramis asked, walking closer.

"Under no circumstances would I ever put Iris in danger – but I recognise that look she has in her eyes. It's one I've seen plenty of times before, one I saw in both of you. I brought her with me yesterday to present an idea for her."

"Which is?" Marsac inquired.

"I have a friend who owes me a favour. He was a soldier himself once, till he decided to put aside his sword and marry some rich widow. Now he has more resources than he knows what to do with, and he relishes at things that are out of the ordinary."

"What does that have to do with Iris?"

"I wanted to propose that she goes to him, with my blessing, and learns all of this properly. He is a good man," he assured them as he saw their hesitation, "above all, he is the sort of man who believes you should have a chance if you're willing to fight for it – be it a man or a woman."

"And then what?" Aramis blurted out. "I'm convinced she could be beyond brilliant with the right sort of training, but then what? I've certainly never heard of female soldier before."

"After today's events, I'll let Iris find herself again. In the meantime, I plan to breach the subject with the king. If nothing else, the queen is intrigued with Iris."

"What will happen if Iris goes the other way? She could just as well decide she never wants anything to do with any of this ever again."

Treville smiled sadly.

"You tell me. Has Iris never showed any sign of giving up if things got rough?"

Aramis and Marsac exchanged a glance.

"She wouldn't," Marsac admitted. "What are we to do in the meantime?"

"You look out for her. No matter what the outcome, she will need your support."

* * *

In the days that followed, Iris kept mostly to herself. It wasn't a hard thing to do at the garrison, as everyone was off to the palace for further protection after the attack. She often wondered around in her own thoughts, not meeting the eyes of anyone. Aramis and Marsac both tried to coax her out of her shell, to make her smile again but nothing seemed to have the effect they needed.

She was now the centre of attention of the musketeers. News of her actions had travelled fast, but there was a divided opinion of her. Half the men believed her to be a hero – nothing short of a miracle, a woman who could do anything. The other half watched her with disbelief, whispered loudly making sure she would heard their words. It took her six days before she finally lost it.

She had been filling small bonfires around the courtyard with some dry kindle when a group of musketeers passed.

"Makes sense, doesn't it?" One of them said, a tall man called Freer. "First she finds a way in with the captain and now she wants a place in our ranks."

Anger flared through her as the men snickered, and she turned around and clenched her fist before thinking.

A crack sounded when her fist collided with his face, sending him back a step. Everyone is the courtyard looked up in surprise as Freer took a hand to his nose and withdrew it to see blood.

"You broke my nose," he observed, looking at her in disbelief.

"That wont be all I break if you don't start treating me with some respect," she hissed loudly, and marched back to her room.

* * *

After that, the men saw Iris in a new light. No one bothered her anymore – Freer the least of all.

She hadn't spoken of her feelings of taking a life since that day, and she didn't plan to bring it up. Marsac had been right, she knew she had acted to save not only herself but the queen. There was no joy at the thought. Killing, no matter who it concerned, was horrible, but knowing her actions had given the guards enough time to find the queen gave her just enough relief to find a way to live with it.

She was absent-mindedly twisting the bracelet on her wrist when she heard two knocks on her door.

"Who is it?" Iris called. The door opened slightly and Aramis stuck his head inside.

"Do you have a moment?" he asked quietly, a strange look on his face. Iris sat up in her bed and frowned.

"Is something wrong?"

"Oh, no, nothing at all," he assured her, but he sounded off. "The captain wants a word."

Iris rose slowly from her bed, feeling he wasn't telling her something. She followed him down the hall, and out into the courtyard.

She almost stopped walking when she stepped out there. The courtyard was filled with musketeers, who stopped speaking the instant she appeared. Everyone stared at her with the same expression as Aramis, and a knot started forming in her gut.

"What's going on?" she whispered to Aramis, who simply shrugged and gave her a push towards the stairs.

"Don't keep him waiting."

She felt the eyes of everyone follow her as she made her way to the staircase, where Marsac was standing. He gave a nod of assurance as she went up the steps, the knot in her stomach expanding.

She felt a moment of relief when she stepped inside the hall that led to Treville's office, as she was out of sight from everyone. Iris stopped in front of the door, not sure if she wanted to step inside. Taking a deep breath, she reached for the handle and walked in.

"Aramis said you wanted a word cap..."

Her words trailed off when she laid eyes on the man behind the desk. Although they were indeed called "The Kings Musketeers", she never seen or heard of his presence in the garrison. Wearing his fine clothes, he looked out of place here in the worn out office, where things were made of wood and not marble. He looked expectantly at her as she quickly closed the door behind her, and curtsied.

"Forgive me your majesty, I was not aware of your presence here."

He waved her closer, and she glanced to the side where Treville stood. He wore the same expression as the musketeers in the courtyard.

"You've made quite the commotion, mademoiselle Chevalier," Louis began, folding his hands before him. Iris glanced at Treville again, to get a sign of whether or not this meeting would end well for her. All she got was the feeling that she should keep quiet, and let him speak.

"I must admit I had my doubts when captain Treville informed me of your... skills, that day. Frankly, I was sure you would be dead within moments of being found. I never for a moment imagined you were capable of such things, with you being a woman and a fairly young one of that. I'm sure you understand."

"I do, your majesty," she said, but he had already continued talking.

"It is of course very different – I haven't heard of anyone who have done it so far, but I've given it a lot of thought and I've decided that this change shall be welcomed. Captain Treville has been speaking your case for the last couple of days, and her majesty seems equally invested in making it happen, so that is why I've made my way here today."

He rose from his chair and looked at her, waiting for her to speak.

"I'm... I'm not sure I follow, your majesty," she said hesitantly, thoughts whirling around in her mind. _What case had Treville been speaking of?_

"Your commission, of course," Louis answered, as if it was obvious.

Iris felt her jaw drop. Had the king just said he was here to give her her commission? She turned to Treville, who now gave her a smile that confirmed what she had heard.

"I... well, I... that's quite an honour, your majesty, but I-"

"Do you not want it?" Louis asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, I didn't mean that! I simply meant to say... well, I was of the thought that women have no place in the ranks of the musketeers. Which I disagree with myself, but all the same I understood that was how things was. Your majesty," she added.

"If what I've heard of you is true, mademoiselle Chevalier, you will prove that thought wrong. The musketeers is about loyalty and honour, and those are both things I've heard when people speak of you. So, if you accept, and you're ready to make history, kneel before me."

Iris watched him turn to a sword that stood leaning against the wall, and quickly turned to Treville for guidance. The trust that radiated from him overwhelmed her, and she sank to her knees.

"Hereby, I commission you," Louis said touching one of her shoulders with the tip of the blade, "into the regiment of the musketeers," he continued, touching her other shoulder.

Putting the sword aside, he glanced down at her with the same expectant look from before.

"I hope to see great things from you, Iris Chevalier of the kings musketeers."

Nodding to Treville, he left the office. Iris still knelt at the floor, too shocked to even move. When a hand appeared before her, she looked up into the beaming face of Treville.

"What just happened, captain?" Iris asked breathlessly. She took his hand and stood up, looking into the beaming eyes of the man before her.

"We made history, Iris."

* * *

**A/N**

**I know I said this would be Savoy, but with the slight problem of wanting to write a realistic travelling time (which I now think I can, thanks to riversidewren) it must wait for next chapter.**

**And next chapter will come a little later than usually, as I have a full weekend planned with no time to write - but hopefully you will stick with Iris and I as things go even further south! Also, some may wonder if there is to be a sequel, and I promise that it is in the works. Till then, enjoy x**


	8. Chapter 8

_Five days after black and red collide  
The motion sickness past, I'll be the first to stand  
Behind that weathered door, I thought it would be safest  
My head is dizzy now, I thought we'd overcome  
We might not make it home tonight_

Get Up – Barcelona

* * *

"You must really think you'll miss us if you're willing to spend a night here," Aramis mused loudly as he and Iris made their way towards a free table in a corner.

"Think? Of course I will miss you – two months is longer than you think!" she called over the sound of the crowd.

Tomorrow a group of twenty or so musketeers would set off on a training exercise to Savoy, Aramis and Marsac included. Though she usually avoided the taverns in Paris, she had agreed to join them this once as it was the last night she would spend with them in a long time.

"I'm sure the queens guardian will find something to do in our absence," he joked as he took a seat. Iris fell into the chair next to him with a groan.

"You know I hate that name."

"I like it. Gives you an air of mystery."

"Because mystery is what she lacks," Marsac said sarcastically, appearing at the table with three glasses and a bottle of wine. Pouring one for each of them, he raised his glass.

"To good company," he toasted.

"To new adventures," Aramis joined in.

"To being left behind," Iris finished, with mock enthusiasm.

Marsac drained his glass and gave her a sympathetic look.

"We wont be gone forever."

"I'm aware. All I'm saying is, it would be nice to at least be invited." Iris took a sip from her own glass, and fought to hold back a grimace. Wine, alcohol in general, had never agreed with her. It was just as well, she liked to have a clear head. Aramis leaned towards her.

"Surely Treville has his reasons to keep you here – after all, Paris will fall if all the best musketeers aren't present to protect it."

"I'm hardly one of the best, but I appreciate the sentiment."

"Hardy one of the best," Marsac repeated with a snort. "You've been a musketeer for just about five months, and you're a natural. Definitely one of the best."

"Well, I have to try to be don't I?" Iris burst out, frowning. "With the king, the cardinal, the other musketeers and just about everyone I meet breathing down my neck expecting _great things_, I don't see much choice if I want to keep wearing this."

She gently tapped a finger to the pauldron on her right shoulder. Ever since the day Treville had presented it to her – almost completely black leather with the symbolic fleur-de-lis, surrounded by an elegant floral pattern – she felt incomplete without it.

"I feel bad for anyone who tries to take that away from you," Aramis grinned and leaned back in his chair. "Besides, great things are expected of you because you do great things. There's a reason you're the first female musketeer."

"Speaking of great things," Marsac said with a nervous glance in her direction. "Have you decided on whether or not to accept Treville's offer?"

Iris bit her lip and looked thoughtful for a moment.

"I feel no wiser today than I did when he offered it."

* * *

A week ago Treville had called her into the office for a private conversation. She had taken place in a chair by his desk and looked expectantly at him.

"Do you remember the first time I brought you to the palace?" he asked, folding his hands on the table.

"The day of the attack? I recall. You wanted to run something by me," she remembered, looking at him curiously. In all the confusion, she had forgotten why she had even been at the palace in the first place.

"I wanted to take a chance to talk to you about your training – but with everything that happened I forgot all about an offer I wanted to make you."

"What offer?" Iris leaned closer to him in her chair.

"I have a friend, monsieur Navarre, who owes me a favour. He and I were soldiers in the same regiment once, years back," he explained, eyes growing distant at the memories of his younger days. Iris waited patiently for him to continue.

"Anyhow, as he grew older his strength started to leave him, but his spirit stays strong. Navarre is a wealthy man, and he likes to take on a new challenge."

"How do I fit into this?" Iris asked with caution, unsure of where the conversation were going.

"I want to propose an opportunity for you to seek him out and be properly taught – be it fighting or something else entirely."

Iris watched him in silence, a frown forming.

"You wish to send me away? Have I done something wrong?"

"This isn't a punishment, it's a chance for you to grow more experienced. You've only been a musketeer a few months, and though you've done remarkable work, I believe you have the potential for more. You're also still very young and have barely set a foot in the world. Navarre takes pleasure in travelling every now and then – I'm sure he would bring you along."

"Wait, how long am I supposed to stay with him?"

"However long you need to," he muttered with a shrug. "Think about it, and be sure to remember what this could mean for you."

* * *

Picking up her glass, Iris looked at Marsac and Aramis.

"I don't see how I can decline something like that."

"I still say you should do it," Aramis weighed in, nodding to himself. "If it's not what you expect it to be, you can always return to the garrison."

"A solid argument," she said, her voice trailing off. They sat in silence, before Aramis suddenly leaned forward in his chair.

"You must excuse me, but I believe I have an acquaintance to make before taking off," he mumbled, eyes locked on something in the distance. Iris turned her head to follow his line of sight, and saw one of the barmaids sending glances at Aramis every other moment.

Putting on a charming smile, he rose from his chair, and winked at his friends.

"I'll see you both in the morning."

Iris watched him disappear into the crowd and turned back to Marsac.

"Don't let me keep you from seeking out... friendlier company as well," she teased. Marsac let out a laugh and quickly drained the contents of his glass.

"I was actually considering turning in early to get some proper rest before tomorrow... I doubt there will be much chance to sleep once we're on the road."

"Can we go back to the garrison, then? It's starting to get a bit too loud for my taste in here," she pleaded. Marsac followed her around the tables and into the cool air.

The light had started to return, but even though it was nearing the ending of March, the weather still had an icy feel to it. Feeling a sudden stab of pity for the musketeers who were to camp outside, she realised that she might be lucky to stay behind where a warm bed waited every night.

"How he time after time does this is beyond me," Iris noted as they walked back towards the garrison.

"Aramis has never been one to deny himself anything," Marsac explained.

"And yourself?" Iris asked, glancing at him through the beginning darkness.

"I suppose I'm more of an... watching from a distance sort of man."

"I can't imagine that gives many results," she chuckled. Marsac gave her a slight smile.

"You're not wrong," he muttered under his breath.

A group of musketeers passed them from the other direction, moving towards the tavern they had just left. Tonight was to be a night of celebration before going away. Iris and Marsac nodded to them and fell into a comfortable silence the rest of the way.

* * *

The garrison was chaos the next morning. Treville had set off to the palace for some last minute meeting with the cardinal – guard duties at the palace were to be split between the remaining musketeers and the red guard.

As the musketeers set off for the meeting point, Iris weaved her way through horses to where Aramis and Marsac were getting ready.

"You sure you have everything?" she asked, reaching out a hand to stroke one of the horses.

"More or less," Aramis grunted from the ground where he was filling a satchel with small bags of gunpowder. Marsac fastened a saddle on his horse and turned to face her.

"We'd better be off."

"You both behave then," Iris said with a sad smile, giving Marsac a hug. He held on to her for a moment and let go. Aramis stood up and received a hug as well.

"Don't do anything stupid while we're gone," he teased, giving her a mock version of Treville's usual stern look. She laughed as they jumped in their saddles. As they looked down on her, her smile faltered a bit.

"Just come back in one piece, all right?"

"That's a promise I can make," Marsac said as they made their way towards the gate. Iris stopped and watched them leave, an uneasy feeling settling in her gut. Not knowing how or why, she was sure things would be different when she saw them again.

* * *

Over time, Iris had grown familiar with the halls of the palace. The servants had stopped openly staring at her, when she passed by, and if anyone did glance an extra time she had grown accustomed to ignoring it.

After becoming a musketeer, Iris had taken to wearing men's clothing. Her blonde hair was tied back, and her female curves just showed under the leather jerkin she wore. A series of belts held different weapons. The blue cloak that was formally worn by the musketeers was draped over her shoulder.

She turned down a hall and made her way towards the queens quarters. In the three weeks since the departure of Aramis and Marsac, Iris had taken extra work to keep herself occupied. The queen had requested Iris to act as a shadow as she went about her duties in the palace, and Iris had gladly accepted. Though the work itself was very quiet and involved a lot of standing still, she enjoyed being in the presence of Anne.

She noticed the tension in the room the minute she walked through the doors and greeted the queen. Her ladies stood to the side, whispering furiously. When they saw Iris, they all turned quiet. She let her eyes wander over them, and back to Anne.

Anne was sitting in a chair, clutching a piece of paper. Her hair, that was usually beautifully styled, hung down framing her face. She looked up when Iris entered and took a deep breath.

"Oh Iris," Anne began. Iris froze. At the palace, she wasn't used to being called by her first name.

"You seem troubled, your majesty."

Anne's eyes turned sad.

"I just got word from the king – something horrible has happened in Savoy."

Time seemed to slow down. The uneasy feeling she had been walking around with since seeing her friends off roared to life and engulfed her.

"... they say it was a Spanish raiding party..."

It felt as though a fist of iron was closing in on her chest, making it hard to breathe.

"... it happened in the night, they had no chance to defend themselves..."

Iris fought to get herself back to reality, to listen to the queen who was still speaking. The sadness in her eyes had turned to pity.

"... I understand if you feel like you cant be here."

"I'm... forgive me your majesty, but I didn't hear that last part," she heard herself say distantly. Anne rose from her chair and walked closer.

"The loss of twenty of your comrades – I cannot begin to imagine what you must feel."

"Twenty," she echoed soundlessly.

The queen reached out and took one of Iris' hands in her own. She didn't realise before now that she had started shaking.

"I will understand if you need to take a few days to grieve," Anne said softly. Iris felt a lump form in her throat.

"My duty is to guard you, your majesty."

"Your sense of duty is memorable."

Iris spent the day feeling as though she might break at any moment. Hours later, when her shift ended, she almost ran to the stables, and rode back to the garrison.

The news had reached the other musketeers as well, and she was greeted by a heavy feeling of grief.

When she reached the door to her room she felt the tears form in her eyes and she desperately searched for her key so she could disappear from sight. As she forced it inside the lock a strangled sound escaped her lips and she slit inside the moment the door was opened.

Sliding down the wall, she let go of the facade she had held all day at court.

Twenty dead musketeers, killed in the night. No chances to defend themselves. No news of who were still alive. If Aramis... or Marsac...

The thought of Aramis and Marsac, brought a fresh wave of pain over her. Iris had to bite down hard on her hand to regain some sort of control over herself. Physical pain was something she could handle – the emotional wasn't.

* * *

It would take another three weeks before anyone heard any news. The musketeers at the garrison had lost every hint of joy, and a great dark cloud seemed to hang over them all. They would look up with sudden hope at the sound of someone passing by the gates, and then disappear into the despair again.

Iris was sitting on the steps of the staircase in the courtyard, absent-mindedly pushing her dinner around the bowl with her spoon. Lately, she didn't seem to be able to eat anything.

"Iris."

At the sound of her name she slowly lifted her head and felt the air leave her lungs.

Aramis stood in the gate, holding on the reins of his horse. He looked beaten and tired. There was a vacant look in his eyes, but he seemed relieved to see her.

The bowl slipped from her hands and crashed down the steps before crashing to the ground. As though floating she moved towards him, making sure not to blink as though he would disappear if she did.

She didn't realise she was crying before the tears ran down her face. For the first time since hearing the news from the queen, she felt the iron fist around her chest loosen it's grasp.

He pulled her into a tight hug, and the two of them stood like that for a long time finding comfort in the other.

"I thought... I kept thinking..." she whispered against his shoulder. He tightened his grip around her.

"I've thanked God every day since that you were nowhere near it," he croaked. Iris tensed at the sound of his voice. It was bare of all emotion.

"I should have been there, I should have done something-"

"Then you would be dead as well."

She pulled back and looked at him. There was no fire in his eyes, no charming smile on his lips. No nothing.

"I'm so sorry Aramis," she whispered, her voice breaking. Moving a hand to brush away the tears that still flowed from her eyes, she glanced over his shoulder.

"Where is Marsac?"

A shadow slid over his eyes and for the first time since his return she emotions on his face. Sadness, betrayal, regret.

"Is he..."

Somehow she couldn't bring herself to say it. Aramis slowly shook his head.

"He's not dead."

"Then where is he?" she asked as confusion swirled inside her. Surely, if he was alive he would be here. Aramis closed his eyes and seemed to hold back a storm of words. After a moment, he spoke with a controlled voice.

"He's gone Iris. He's not coming back."

* * *

**A/N**

**Doing a bit of a time jump with this one, but it seemed necessary to get where I needed to be. I've been considering working on a few one shots of what they've been up to in the "lost months".**

**Anyway, Savoy time. I've been wondering how to tackle it, and there will be more of it in the next chapter. Incidentally, the next will also be the last of this story. Loose ends will be tied up, but plenty must wait as they're essential for the sequel.**

**Till then, thank you all for reading. It's now more than 1K views which is simply fantastic. Keep an eye out in the next chapter - Iris meets a beloved character and some horrible people make evil plans...**


	9. Chapter 9

_Everything will change__  
__Nothing stays the same__  
__Nobody here's perfect__  
__Oh, but everyone's to blame__  
__Oh, all that you rely on__  
__And all that you can save__  
__Will leave you in the morning__  
__And find you in the day_

In My Veins – Andrew Belle

* * *

"Are you sure you want me to go? Of all the times I could choose to leave, this seems like the worst-"

"There could be no better time for you to get out of here," Treville explained, looking through a letter on his desk. Iris fidgeted from her place in front of his desk. Instead of wearing her usual uniform of breeches and a shirt, she wore a plan dress. Her shoulder felt uncomfterbly bare without the presence of the pauldron – instead it was securely packed into the satchel she had dropped off by Aramis in the courtyard.

"After everything that's happened, you must agree-"

"Iris," Treville sighed looking up from the paper in his hands. She swallowed hardly at the lost look in his eyes.

The massacre in Savoy had hit everyone in the garrison hard, but perhaps noone more than their captain. Iris hadn't dared ask him about it, but she guessed that the guilt that was written deeply in his face had something to do with him being unable to help his men.

"If I thought for a moment that your presence here could help, I wouldn't let you go anywhere. Unfortunately," he mumbled, throwing the letter back on the table and looked at her with tired eyes, "you can do no more than I these days."

She watched him as he stood up and gathered the cloak that was slung over the back of his chair.

"All we can do is to rise from the despair we've landen in and continue our lives the best we can. For you, that means finding strength in learning, and for me it means strenghtening our numbers."

"Is that what you're doing now?" she asked, as he picked up his hat that lay on a table in a corner.

"I'm headed to the court of miracles – don't ask," he quickly added as she frowned. Holding the door open for her, he gave her an encouraging look.

"We'll find a way through all of this."

She followed him out of the office, knowing that there was nothing else to say in the matter. They made their way down the hall in silence.

"Be sure to keep me updated on your whereabouts," Treville noted as he and Iris walked out on the porch by his office. "I may need you to do some work for me while you're there – sensitive matters and such."

"Whatever you need captain," she answered with a slight smile. She followed him down the stairs, past the table where Aramis sat, cleaning his pistol. Treville took the reins of a horse that had been prepared for him, and turned back to her.

"Navarre's servant will be waiting for you-"

"At the northern road out of Paris, I remember," she interrupted. He nodded satisfied and mounted the horse.

"Give Navarre my regards," he said before disappearing though the gate. Iris stood in that same spot for a minute before turning back to Aramis.

He was bent over the table, carefully cleaning a part of the pistol. He worked slower than usually, and seemed to pay far more attention then he normally did. Taking a deep breath, she knew she wouldn't be able to delay her own departure any longer.

He didn't look up when her shadow fell over him.

"I'll be going then."

He glanced up at her quickly, and gave her a smile. However, it seemed forced and didn't reach his eyes. Iris bit down on her lip and felt her doubt take over again.

"Are you sure you will be fine?" she asked quietly. His smile faded.

"I'm already fine," he assured her.

"Because I can stay-"

"You're going."

Letting go of the things in his hands, Aramis rose from the bench and pulled her into a hug. Iris held on to him and then let go.

"I'll write," she promised, trying to sound cheerful.

"You better."

It was clear that he pretended to be in a good mood for her sake. Deciding against beginning another argument of why she should stay, she sighed and picked up the satchel she had left by him earlier.

Giving him a last look, she walked towards the gates, determined not to glance back.

* * *

A part of her was relieved to be going away. Since the return of Aramis, Treville and the two other survivors of the massacre, she hadn't felt all that comfortable at the garrison. The absence of the twenty musketeers could be felt in the many halls and rooms and most importantly in the courtyard. There was no longer a sound of laughter echoing towards her when she lay in her bed. There was no sound of steel clashing, as no one felt sparring. The silence was becoming too much for her to handle, and for once she felt like she could breathe freely again as she put distance between herself and her home.

But another part of her desperately needed to run back and never leave the place again. As exciting as the promise of adventure sounded, she felt uneasy at the thought of entering the world without a familiar face by her side.

Consumed by the feelings clashing inside her, she didn't pay much attention to where she was going and only realised what was happening in front of her when it was too late.

She had walked straight into someone in front of her, and the impact sent her backwards. A pair of strong, but gentle, hands shot out to keep her steady.

"Forgive me, I didn't see where I was going," she quickly apologized.

"The fault is mine Mademoiselle," a deep voice answered. "It would seem we're both lost in our thoughts."

As he released his hold on her arms, he took a small step back giving her space to really see him. He wore a dark cloak, the thick kind that effectively kept out the cold. His face was hidden in the shadow cast by the brim of his hat. Giving him half a smile, she was about to walk away when he spoke again.

"If I might trouble you for another moment, I'm looking for the garrison of the kings musketeers."

"Have you come to join them?" she asked. After the memorial at the palace, men of all ages had flocked to the garrison, hoping for a chance to be commissioned. Treville had had a hard time keeping up with the sudden attention, and a lot of his time the last couple of days had been spent on strenghtening the numbers of the musketeers. Even before the massacre, they had been fewer than he liked.

Iris didn't mention that she was a musketeer herself – there was no reason to get into all that now.

"If they'll have me," he admitted. She noticed the determination in his voice – he wanted it. But then again, all the men who had come seeking a chance wanted it.

"These days they can hardly afford to send anyone away," she muttered sadly. He didn't say anything and she remembered that he had asked her a question.

"The garrison lies around the corner at the end of this street. You cant miss it," she explaining, gesturing to where she had come from. He inclined his head to her as a sign of thanks and made his way in the direction she had given him. Watching him disappear into the crowd, Iris couldn't help but wondering if she would meet him again, as one of her brothers rather than a stranger. Deciding it wouldn't matter, as she wouldn't be able to recognise him anyway, she turned away and continued north.

Some day, when she would return to Paris, everything would be different. She herself would be a new person. The garrison would have new life. Perhaps, things would be better. Perhaps she would return to find that it wasn't her home any longer.

As she placed one foot in front of the other, her thoughts returned to Marsac again. There had been no word from him, and she had decided she would stop expecting it. Seeing what the events in Savoy had done to Aramis, she could only imagine what they had done to Marsac. Sooner or later he would return – deserter or not – and she would be prepared to forgive him for leaving them. Maybe Treville would understand. Things could go back to the way they had been, she was sure of it. All she needed was to be patient.

* * *

In the end, Aramis had to give up cleaning his pistol. Though he could probably do it in his sleep, his thoughts had him too far away to have any sense of what he was doing.

Talking Iris into going away had been the right choice. From the moment she had explained Treville's offer, he had known it would be right for her to get away from Paris for a time and gather some much needed experience. Surely he would miss her, but she would be better prepared for what this life had to offer and that was enough for him. Ever since his return from Savoy, he had felt her watch him, as though he would break any moment, and he felt relief that she wouldn't have to see him suffer day after day. Hopefully, by the time she would return to Paris, he would have found a way to put all of it behind him.

The nightmares that followed him kept growing stronger, and he had taken to drinking more than usually to keep them at bay. This was another thing that had Iris acting uneasily around him. He had assured her that he had it under control, and he was sure that it was the truth. Going through the events of Savoy, seeing his best friend leave, all of that was bad enough without having her hover over him with that worried look in her eyes. Of course she only meant the best for him, but he would rather be without it.

Glancing around the silent courtyard, his eyes fell on a person entering through the gates. A man in a dark cloak stopped for a moment, looked around, and approached Aramis. The brim of his hat cast a shadow over his face.

"I'm looking for captain Treville," he said as he came to a stop next to Aramis.

_Another recruit_, Aramis thought. A strange feeling went through him; it was only to be expected that men would come running to the garrison at the news of the low numbers of the musketeers. He had seen plenty of men in his time here, fighting for a chance to join the ranks, to become a part of the brotherhood. Only now it felt as though the world was trying to replace the men that had been lost. _Some things can never be replaced._

"He's attending business elsewhere," Aaramis explained, rising from the bench. They were just about the same height. "I can pass on a message to him when he returns."

"I'd like to speak to him myself," the man declared, removing the hat. The blue eyes, that for so long had been saddened and unfocused, now shone with determination.

"I'm here to joing the musketeers. My name is Athos."

* * *

A few hours from Paris, a man rode towards a great mansion. A look of triumph radiated from him, and he urged his horse forward, eager to pass on the news he carried.

As he reached the stables, he hurried off the horse, leaving it in the hands of the stable boys, and hurried towards the door that lead inside.

Night had almost fallen, and the mansion was covered in darkness. A light flickered as he entered the dining room, where the old maid, Elaine, sat polishing the silverware. She looked up as he approached her, and his eyes slid over the silvery scar on her cheek. Her face fell slightly as she saw the triumphant look in his eyes, and he smiled menacingly.

Continuing through the mansion, he soon came to his fathers private chambers, where he was met by more flickering lights.

"Father, I bring news," he announced as he entered.

The comte stood with his back to his son, looking through the window behind his desk. Age had been kind to him. His hair, once the colour of a ravens beak, had the same silvery colour as his eyes. He was reaching the age of fifty, but in this moment he felt the same energy he had felt twenty years ago surge through him again.

"Do elaborate," he said calmly, though he felt a firery feeling go through his veins.

"She is leaving Paris," Andre explained, stepping closer to his father who still had his eyes on the window.

"Going where?"

"There is no telling, but my men are shadowing her as we speak. They're awaiting my orders to seize her-"

"THEY WILL DO NO SUCH THING!" the comte roared, turning around to glare at his son. Andre frowned.

"I don't see when we will have a better chance..."

"If we go after her now, they will search for her. Those _musketeers_," he hissed, "will take her away again. No, we must wait for the right moment."

Andrew let out a frustrated groan.

"There may not be another chance – could be months, if not years-"

"We **will **wait. The day will come when you will bring her home, and you will be **damned** sure no one will steal her from us again."

The feeling of triumph slowly faded from Andre, as he broke under the intent stare of his father.

"As you wish, father. I will order my men to keep her under watch."

With that he left the room, and the comte turned back to the window.

_I will wait for as long as it takes to have you home again, mademoiselle Chevalier_, he thought. _The musketeers __**will **__pay for taking you from me; I'm a patient man. You will be mine again._

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**IN "A CHEVALIER TO REMEMBER"**

* * *

**A/N**

**To current/future readers: Thank you all so much for reading! Every review, follow and favourite has truly warmed my heart and has urged me to keep writing. I hope you will continue with the sequel "A Chevalier To Remember" - where things heat up and get complicated!**

**Also, did anyone notice my little nudge towards Porthos?**


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